


Well Read

by imbetteronpaperattwointhemorning



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Books, Dalish Culture, Dalish Elves, Eventual relationship, Libraries, Lore - Freeform, M/M, Mage, Mages, Magic-Users, Reading, Shartan - Freeform, Skyhold, Solas - Freeform, dragon age 2 reference, inquisitor - Freeform, iron bull drunk, krem drunk, sleeping blackwall, sleeping solas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 09:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5781391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imbetteronpaperattwointhemorning/pseuds/imbetteronpaperattwointhemorning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inquisitor Xevan Lavellan sneaks off to Skyhold's library in the middle of the night and Dorian gets something off his chest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Well Read

**Author's Note:**

> Xevan x Dorian. Xevan is obviously elven and a mage. 
> 
> *chanting* OTP. OTP. OTP. I love writing these two together.
> 
> In seriousness, it is a small drabble about my most recent Inquisitor and canon playthrough, Xevan. He was meant to be the first of clan Lavellan, but fate had other plans.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Xevan felt the cold stone on the soles of his feet. He had attempted to conjure veilfire, but when he lifted his hand to cast it he was reminded that the mark was all that he needed to alert another to his presence in the dark. The strange green glow of his blighted hand could be his beacon.  
Elves had no need for light in order to navigate in the dark but Xevan, as a courtesy to the others in Skyhold, used the glow of veilfire to alert every human, qunari and dwarf, that the Inquisitor walked among them. Xevan did not want to feed the ever expanding rumor mill regarding Dalish elves. He knew if he walked freely through the castle without light, the Orlesian nobles would grasp onto to his laziness as proof that Dalish did traipse about in the wee hours of he morning to steal human children. He could hear them whisper now, words sharp as knives cutting through delicate silken masks.

Look how smooth he sneeks through ze castle, the bunch of thieves ze are. Andraste’s tits he is no herald of mine. 

“Dread wolf take them all,” Xevan mumbled to himself. He reached the door to the great hall and hesitated. The sweet void of silence and black washed over him. 

“Empty.” He grinned. 

Xevan passed the “Inquisi-seat.” Sera had called it that in jest and it stuck. Sera was right in some sense. Xevan was a different person in the chair. Most of the time he could walk the halls and pretend he was himself, but Xevan’s place in the stone hold in the sky was undeniable when he sat there staring out across the hall. He passed the chair now intent on not letting it force him to acknowledge its existence. 

“A keeper remembers,” Keeper Deshanna had said. She had warned nothing of commanding Thedas only of how to protect and lead their small nomadic clan.

He rounded the corner of the rotunda. The lights were dimmed. Solas lay wandering the fade. Xevan extinguished a bright lamp from Solas’ desk and continued upward toward the library. 

He arrived at the landing, raising his hand to the level of his eyes. His pale gold eyes scanned the shelves. He traced the shapes of the book spines beneath his fingers. He pressed his palm to his target: The Book of Shartan. He pulled it from the shelf. 

How light it feels to mean so much. He considered the tome’s weight in his hands. 

“Late night reading. Tsk, tsk…Josephine won’t like you napping on the war table again.” A whisper from the night.

“By the Dread Wolf!” Xevan sprung back from the shelf. He dropped the book to the floor. 

Dorian stood, still dressed in the day’s clothes, veilfire glowed from his torch in the night. Xevan heard Solas stir from the rotunda. Xevan and Dorian moved toward the balcony railing. They peered gingerly over the side. Xevan held his veilfire light hand out into the night. Solas was still sleeping; he had merely shifted to his side. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” Dorian pulled from the railing. He shifted in the night retrieving the book from the stone floor. There was a smoothness and lilting quality to Dorain’s voice when he whispered. Xevan had heard it before in caves and shifting through bandit filled keeps. To hear it in total darkness made the skin on his neck tingle. 

“It is fine. I merely—“

“Wanted to read about Shartan it seems.” He examined the book. 

“Yes.” Xevan took the book from Dorian’s hand. 

“Inquisitor, can we speak somewhere—less filled with sleeping companions?”  
Xevan could not make Dorian’s face out in the night. 

“Of course.” Xevan walked toward the door frame and up the steps toward the rookery. He could hear Dorian’s footfalls behind him, slow and deliberate strides. Xevan hesitated at the top of the stairs and the sound of both footsteps became indistinguishable from each other. When they reached the top of the landing, Xevan could feel Dorian move beside him. They turned left out the small door to the walkway outside. 

The night was light by the bright moon and a blanket of stars. Below, the faint sound of the tavern emptying for the night. Xevan recognized Bull’s booming laughter and Krem’s voice. When the sound of retiring revelry subsided, Xevan could swear he heard Blackwall snoring in the barn. 

He must have fallen asleep in hay again, Xevan thought. Mythal’s mercy are all human Wardens so strange? 

“Inquisitor?” Dorian faced Xevan, illuminated by the moon and a nearby torch. 

It always struck Xevan often how often Dorian asserted his own handsomeness. He looked at the Tevinter mage in the moonlight and it was evident that any claim of handsomeness was redundant. Dorain was stunning. His eyes were the color of jewels. His cheekbones were high. His skin tanned and complexion even. His mustache and hair always impeccably groomed. Xevan had thought him perfect upon seeing him even covered in demon’s blood. When he spoke of Tevinter with distain it had reassured him. However, Xevan felt that push and pull of want and fear whenever they were alone. 

“Dorian, w-what is it you wanted to talk about?” 

“I was thinking the weather, but as there is nothing happening of note: Tevinter instead.”

“Perhaps I should make it snow then.” Xevan formed a ball of soft fluffy snow between his hands. He was surprised at his ability to focus under the circumstances. He looked at his hands as if they were some new phenomenon. 

“Always so helpful. Dalish hospitality, I suppose.”

“Dread wolf take the Keeper who isn’t feeding you or making it snow to avoid difficult subjects.” 

Dorian chuckled. “That is precisely why I think we should talk. I feel that I was not clear enough regarding how I feel about…well…I—” He stammered. 

Xevan looked up from his own hands. Dorain was shifting his feet. He was looking away. He stole a glance and found Xevan eyeing him. The two locked eyes. 

“I don’t make apologies for my homeland. I also don’t agree with all of Tevinter. To be frank, nothing there holds my interest other than the sorry state of it. What I mean to say is. I don’t intend to be a dreadful guest that frightens the host by putting him on a ship and dragging him to Tevinter to serve me soft cheeses.” Dorian reached out to touch Xevan’s hand. The snowball fell from Xevan’s grasp to the floor between them. Despite Dorian’s prior assertions on a hike up from the lake near Skyhold, Dorian did not seem to care that his handsome suede boots were wet. 

“I didn’t think that you did.” 

“You don’t have to think it. You looked it. I don’t want to be the big bad Tevinter to you.” He paused. His face remained stoic, but his eyes revealed a familiar want. A question in the air unspoken and unexpressed. “I’m sorry. I’ve never known any elves that were . . .Dalish. I don’t want to make you feel unsafe. If I were to call a talented, handsome, elf, mage a friend I would want him to know that I respect him and his talent.”

“Respect for a fellow mage?” Xevan tested him.

“Respect for a fellow handsome mage?” Dorian hiding behind sarcasm again. Xevan fought every urge to draw Dorian closer to him, but a hair more and they could be holding each other. 

“You have it.” The words felt so natural. You can have everything, Xevan thought.


	2. Problem Solvers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xevan hangs out with Cullen in the War Room. The two of them organize the troops on the little map and pat each other on the back for thinking of all the efficient ways to maneuver resources and men. Cullen sends Xevan to Josephine and Leliana to pitch the wild ideas. Josephine delicately persuades Xevan to go back to the drawing board.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little drabble I thought up.

“We could ask the King of Nevarra for 400 nugs, Xevan. First, I would be interested to see the purpose of the Inquisition having that many nugs.” Josephine set her quill down.

(Xevan spends 50 minutes explaining how nug poop makes excellent pitch and how nugs keep gardens trim.)

“I see, but the smell.” Josephine half asleep. Her manners fading.

“Oh, right.” Xevan yawns. His eyes water from the expression. He has noticeable bags under his eyes. Josephine wonders if he spent all night in the War Room. Xevan starts to get up to go back to the War Room.

Dorian enters a cup of tea and a piece of bread in either hand. He hands the tea to Xevan as he passes by him and slips the bread into Xevan’s coat pocket. Xevan starts drinking the tea. He puts his left hand in his pocket. He finds the bread and starts the walk back to the War Room. Xevan mutters to himself as he walks.

“Smell. Nugs smell. Of course!” Xevan whispers.

“If I did not know any better, I would be jealous of our strapping commander.” Dorian smiled.

“If Xevan arrives at my desk again wishing to discuss nug excrement I will happily send him your way.” Josephine rubs her temples.

“Why Josie Antivan manners spread thin this morning?” He chides her as he settles in a chair opposite her desk.

“No, it is just the sample took it a tad too far.” Josephine gestures to a small box by her desk.

“At least, he didn’t set it on fire.” Dorian chuckles.

“Don’t let Sera hear that. She’ll love the idea of a demonstration." Josephine grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good old fashioned poop jokes because I am a classy person. There is a longer chapter in the works, but this first.


	3. Fire, Water, and Precious Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xevan has to make a decision in Crestwood.

Sera, Dorian, and Cassandra busied themselves doing various things in the camp. Sera pushed the logs into the fire with a dampened branch. Cassandra sharpened her sword with a wet stone. Dorian sat with a book on his lap and a small flask of Antivan wine. Xevan paced about the perimeter of the camp. 

“If you keep plodding about like that you’ll create a divot.” Dorian broke the silence. His eyes not straying from the pages before him. Dorian’s statement made Xevan acutely aware of his body. More precisely, of Dorian’s acute awareness of his body. 

“It doesn’t make any sense.” Xevan could hear a faint nasal whine in his words. It made him stomp about with a little more force. 

“Nothing makes sense. Holes in the sky. Zombies runnin’ around. Corphy-shits.” Sera plopped another log down in the fire. The added wood puffed the flames out a bit. She prodded with a newfound eagerness. 

“Perhaps the villagers can tell us more when we return to it in the morning. The locals will have the best understanding.” Cassandra smiled. 

“Likely. Though the track record for the Mayor honesty is what now? 2-0 dishonesty. Cullen has a better record playing Wicked Grace against Solas.” Dorian snapped his book closed. “I say we go to old Crestwood and find out ourselves.”

“We risk not solving this if we leave. What if the major does the same?” Xevan said.

“Do you think he would betray his people like that?” Cassandra inquired.

“Nothing surprises me anymore.” Xevan gestured out toward the empty lake—toward the eerie green glowing voids stretched out before them in the distance.

“Told you all: shit's weird. People are weird.” Sera pulled out a piece of cheese and began eating. 

“So you think we should let things carry on like this a little longer so we can make wild accusations against the entire town?” Dorian’s eyes all but rolled. The barrier that he had erected to keep the camp from being in a constant state of wet drizzle dissipated. “I’ll tell you all now if we do that I’m staying in the village with the villagers. There’s no way they’ll last another night like this one.”

“He’s right. The villagers are getting no help from the Wardens, and they can’t last another night. Their numbers are dwindling.” Cassandra sheathed her sword. The urgency in her voice was anxiety inducing. Cassandra was not a woman slow to action; perhaps this is what made her presence so commanding. Her passion urged those around her ahead in a way that no battle cry could. 

“We would let a potential liar and mass murder go free?” Xevan’s head pounded. 

“I’d prefer to think of it as we would let a town live.” Dorian slipped the book back into his satchel. 

“We could split up. Half defend the village. Other half head toward the cave. Divide and conquer. You know, like jackboot strategy.” Sera eyed Cassandra with a willful defiance. Sera was baiting her, as she sometimes did with Xevan’s other companions. 

Although Sera could chafe the nerves of nearly everyone, Xevan appreciated her candor. There was something about her wild, unapologetic spirit Xevan admired. Even when she was afraid of her feelings, her thoughts, her place in the world, Sera would still take pride in her trueness to the mess that was herself. It was a freedom Xevan admired and envied: the audacity to without hesitation accept oneself. 

Cassandra scoffed and walked toward her tent. “Whatever we decide we should do it by morning.” She hesitated outside the flap for a moment, “Whatever you choose inquisitor, I will follow you.” With that, she descended into her tent away from the rain and the conversation. 

Sera’s fire had died somewhat now that Dorian removed the barrier. Sera stood, “Well since it’s raining for real now, I’m leaving. Only idiots stand out in the rain.” She walked toward her tent pitched near Xevan. On her way in she turned toward him and winked, “Make sure not to look up with your mouth open. It’s how dumb birds drown you know.”

Xevan and Dorian now had the illusion of being alone. Since Giselle told Xevan of the letter from Dorian’s parents, he had felt the burden of visiting the Inn every day. Dorian had been insistent that they should leave at once. However, news of Crestwood’s dismal state had sidetracked their efforts to visit Redcliffe. 

“We should go to those caves. If the mayor is truly involved, Leliana can find him if he flees.” Dorian stood. He slowly started to close the gap between Xevan and him. Xevan met him halfway. Dorian took both Xevan’s hands in his own. “You cannot undue the past. No one can. What you can do is keep the village from falling now.” Xevan looked into his eyes and knew Dorian was right. Xevan was too focused on an investigator's inquiry rather than the pragmatist's solution. His tendency to arbitrarily assume the world possessed as much of love for logical order as he did was troublesome as a leader. The world was irrational and chaotic it would be impossible, nay even nonsensical to evade the practical for the ideals of justice. 

“I miss order.” Xevan lamented. He pulled his hands from Dorian’s. The two embraced. The rain lessened slightly. Xevan sighed into Dorian’s neck. 

“I miss not having holes in the world, but thankfully a very handsome elf I know can fix that.” Dorian quipped. 

Xevan pulled from his neck for a moment, “You should introduce me, I rarely meet people that share this Andrastian savior hobby I have going.” 

Dorian laughed, “Fool.” Dorian pulled Xevan close to kiss. The pair locked lips. Dorian’s mustache tickled Xevan’s upper lip. Xevan giggled back in response, bringing his hands up to the sides of Dorian’s face. He broke the embrace a moment to speak, “No, you’re a fool vehnan.” 

“One day you must tell me what these elfish pet names mean.” Dorian pulled Xevan’s face back toward him. A sudden anxiety crawled up the back of Xevans spine; he broke the kiss one last time, “One day. Until then, no asking Solas.” The only light came from Xevan’s blighted hand. The rain dripped down upon them as the breaches glowed ominously in the distance. Xevan no longer cared to speak of the world and his new place in it. He cared only for the Altus's touch and his continued ignorance of the elfish language. Perhaps the comfort of the order had been overstated all this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay. This series got really stagnant for a while. I started my foray into fanfiction last year at the worst possible time! Good news though, I'm more than halfway through law school now so definitely deserved some quality writing time. Also, got to spend 4 months in England so that was pretty tight! Definitely, toured enough castles to describe Skyhold with sufficient detail. 
> 
> Please subscribe and bookmark. I'm also down to chit chat about ME: A as I am currently working my way through my first playthrough. Jaal guys and girls, amirite?


End file.
